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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306424">trick or treat?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark'>leetheshark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, First Meetings, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Murder, ZsaszMask Week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:55:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>ZsaszMask Week Day 7.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>trick or treat?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One foot in front of the other. Steady. Upright. The sidewalk blurs under Victor’s boots.</p>
<p>Not too hard on the fucked up ankle. <i>Shit.</i> Victor turns a corner and almost falls over. He catches himself on the corner of a building, and his wrist smarts under the pressure.</p>
<p>Fuck. Is his wrist broken? Is it just bruised? He’s too out of it to tell. He can barely string the right amount of thoughts together to realize he has a concussion.</p>
<p>Victor usually has a pretty good understanding of his own abilities. He’s <i>modest.</i> He rarely bites off more than he can chew. He doesn’t go after people who look like they know how to fight back.</p>
<p>But, well.</p>
<p>Coke makes him overconfident sometimes.</p>
<p>Victor got him in the end. That’s all that really matters. And Victor’s still alive, so. Go him. Still, the gash on Victor’s cheek stings in the autumn night’s air. He didn’t even do it himself. He’ll wait until he gets home for that, use a clean knife. There’s blood in his mouth, and maybe one less tooth. Victor can’t tell. There’s blood all over him, and it’s all he can taste or smell. At least most of it isn’t his.</p>
<p>Probably.</p>
<p>The only thing keeping Victor walking in the right direction is the fact that he’s been stalking the same neighborhoods for years. It’s muscle memory: no brain power needed. He knows how to get home. His body just has to cooperate.</p>
<p>Maybe he should find Thompkins. Yeah. That would be good. She’ll give him stitches so he doesn’t have to do it himself. Maybe she can get him more Percocet, since he ran out a month ago. If she even picks up the phone this time.</p>
<p>Victor stumbles down a block of bars and clubs. It’s busier than usual. The bright lights make his head hurt. Right in front of a nightclub, some guy’s stepping out his car. Victor sees a long leg, and one black, heeled boot on the curb. He can’t hear what the guy’s saying—can’t hear much of anything—but it sounds like he’s yelling at his driver.</p>
<p>Victor keeps walking. The guy slams the door. Steps out of the car. When Victor walks past him, he almost falls over again.</p>
<p>“Trick or treat?” the guy asks. Victor looks up. It takes effort to focus. His eyes finally settle on two piercing blue ones. The guy’s wearing makeup, something dark and glittery around his eyes. He doesn’t look older than twenty-five.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I like your costume. Let me buy you a drink.”</p>
<p>“Costume?” Victor asks. The guy nods. He has a look on his face like Victor’s being stupid. Maybe he is. “Okay,” he says, because it’s not like he’s going to turn down a free drink.</p>
<p>Maybe he’ll just stay here for a few minutes. Then home. A few strong ones might help dull the pain anyway. At the very least they’ll make it easier to give himself stitches, and he’s pretty sure he’s out of alcohol at home too.</p>
<p>Victor stumbles into the club. The music is so loud it hurts his head. There’s movement all around. People dancing. Every face Victor manages to focus on is wearing either a mask or makeup.</p>
<p>The guy shouts something over the music.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I’m Roman Sionis,” he repeats.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“What’s your name?”</p>
<p>Oh. “Zsasz.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Zsasz.”</p>
<p>Roman shrugs, as if to say ‘if you say so.’ He takes Victor’s wrist—<i>ow</i>—and pulls him to the bar.</p>
<p>Roman unbuttons his blazer as he slides onto a barstool. He’s wearing a mesh shirt underneath it. Victor climbs onto the stool beside him with effort and looks at his almost-bare chest. He feels like he shouldn’t. He looks straight ahead instead, at the stock of liquor bottles behind the bar.</p>
<p>“Zsasz,” Roman purrs. It rolls honey-sweet off his tongue. “Is that right?”</p>
<p>Victor nods.</p>
<p>“What’s your poison?”</p>
<p>“Whiskey. Double shot.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. I like you.” Roman grins. Something wild shines in his eyes. “So, you’ve been out for a while tonight? Do anything fun?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You’re clearly drunk already. Or high. Or something. It’s okay.” Roman winks. “I won’t tell.”</p>
<p>“Not high anymore,” Victor says.</p>
<p>Roman faux-pouts. “Aw. Poor baby. I can get you something, if you want.”</p>
<p>“’M good.”</p>
<p>Roman shrugs. “’Kay.” He pulls out his wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer, takes out his credit card, and drops it onto the bar. He holds it there, pressed between long, lazy fingers and the black marble countertop. Once the bartender notices, she quickly finishes up with her previous customer.</p>
<p>The bartender is wearing a red harness with two wings on the back strap. Her hair is short and blonde, like Victor’s. A black camisole stretches over her chest, and Victor tries not to stare. There’s a feathered red mask over her eyes.</p>
<p>“I like your mask,” Roman says, smiling. He might even be flirting. “Double shot of whiskey and a bourbon on the rocks?”</p>
<p>“You got it.” She takes Roman’s credit card to start his tab, then pours the drinks in seconds.</p>
<p>“You know what you’re doing,” Roman says. He winks, then slides Victor his tall shot glass. Victor blinks, and the bartender is gone. Roman’s arm blurs in Victor’s vision when he holds up his lowball glass for a toast. Victor clinks his own glass against it.</p>
<p>Roman grins. “Happy Halloween.”</p>
<p>Victor downs his drink in one gulp, then slams the empty glass down onto the bar. It mixes with the blood in his mouth and burns his throat.</p>
<p>It’s just what he needed.</p>
<p>After a second, it hits him what Roman said. “Halloween?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>beta'd by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacketarearmpants">jacket</a> 💙</p></blockquote></div></div>
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